


Destroy Something Beautiful

by Driezai



Category: The Transformers (IDW Generation One)
Genre: Implied/Referenced Prostitution, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-09-14
Updated: 2014-09-19
Packaged: 2018-02-17 10:24:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2306312
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Driezai/pseuds/Driezai
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Drift reacts badly when his guttermech past is brought up in New Crystal City, setting off a chain reaction of violence and confusion.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“Do you trust me?”

Drift considered, leaning against the balcony railing, his back turned on the city. The warm, dimming light, reminiscent of a sunset, was more beautiful on the intricate detailing of Wing’s armour than on the ornate buildings. What was the appropriate answer? Trusting others led to weakness, but he didn’t want Wing to think he was afraid to.

The knight was smiling now, although as usual, Drift couldn’t see the joke. “There’s no right or wrong answer, Drift.”

Drift huffed. “Yes, then,” he said, defiantly, as though daring Wing to question him.

The smile blossomed, and slowly Wing leaned forward, resting a hand on the rail as he tipped his face towards him in open invitation. But Drift flinched away slightly, optics round and almost alarmed, so Wing pulled back, lips already forming an apology – but Drift halted him.

The hands that stilled him were tight on the nacelles, and there was a certain hunger in Drift’s optics. For a second Wing half expected to be dragged against the other, the mouth hard and crushing against his own – but instead, Drift coaxed him forward slowly, almost… shyly.

Wing barely dared to move, scared of breaking the charm, or frightening away this new Drift that had suddenly been revealed, out of the blue. He’d always suspected it was there, but it wasn’t until their lips met and Drift kissed him softly, reverently, that Wing knew for sure. He chirred with glee, that he _had_ been right about him all along, that the real Drift was not the brusque, moody, violent mech he first appeared.

Their kisses deepened, and Wing was impatient to finally lose himself in the heat of his plating, the taste of him, the smoothness of his touch. Drift was so vivid and real and alive, Wing’s previously breath-taking dreams of this moment seemed flat and monochrome. He slipped his arms around Drift’s waist, moaning with open desire, and –

Something changed. Drift stopped cold, mouth suddenly hard and unwelcoming. He immediately pushed Wing away with a  grunt of something like pain, and the moment came crashing down.

“What’s wrong?”

Drift glared away, to his right, folding his arms between them. “I’m a Decepticon.”

“I know.”

“No, you clearly don’t know. At all. You wouldn’t want me if you’d seen what I’ve done. If you understood who I am.”

Wing shook his head sadly. “I already know who you are, Drift.”

Drift snorted. “Do you? Do you realise how many people I’ve killed? How much blood is on my hands?” He looked at them, as though half expecting to find blood on them at that moment. His usual anger flooded back into his expression, and he scowled. “When I was second in command, I used to say ‘spare _no one_ ’,” he said darkly, optics lifting to scan Wing’s face, searching for loathing or disgust there.

“That’s not you,” Wing said quietly, earnestly. “That’s what war made you do.”

Drift seemed to battle with something for a moment, but then pushed away from the railing with a noise of revulsion, and elbowed past Wing back into the darkness of the apartment. “This place is messing with my head.”

Lips quivering, still tingling from Drift’s kiss, Wing stayed facing the sparkling city for a second, allowing himself a moment of dismay. Then, pushing a small smile back into place, he turned to follow Drift.

 

——

 

“Hey!”

Drift looked up from where he sat, bored and restless on a bench in the park, waiting for Wing to return with energon. He wasn’t supposed to be left alone, but Wing had insisted, “I’ll only be a moment, just stay put and you’ll be fine.”

However, Wing had been caught by his red and white friend, and then they’d been joined by Axe. Drift could see them chatting animatedly down the pathway, before his view was blocked by a tall blue grounder storming towards him.

_Oh great_. This mech wasn’t a knight, Drift noticed, from the absence of a hilt rising above the oval-shaped head. His lip was curled in a sneer that irritated Drift before he even spoke.

“I remember you. You were that whore I caught my partner with before the war!”

The mech jabbed the accusation at him without warning, and for a second Drift was shocked. He honestly couldn’t remember him, or who he was referring to; nor did he want to drudge up and pick apart dreadful memories to try and work it out. Yes, he’d done some questionable things in the Dead End, but it had been the only way to get his hands on the money needed for boosters. And after a while, most of the clients had blended into one degrading, nauseating night in a seedy motel room, or on his knees in some foul-smelling alleyway.

“Keep your voice down,” he growled, pushing to his feet angrily and shoving down the memories. He glanced quickly over to see whether Wing and his friends were still out of earshot, realising too late that the mech noticed him checking.

“Oh, what’s this? Does Wing not know that you used to be a Syk hooker?”

“Shut up the frag up, before I shut you up,” snarled Drift, his fingers twitching reflexively. Oh, what he wouldn’t give to have a gun in his hand.

“Please. You think I’m scared of you because you’re a Decepticon?” The mech stepped into Drift’s personal space, almost a head taller and his optics narrow with menace, but from this close Drift could see the thin armour, the weak stance of a neutral. “You think you’re such a tough guy because you work for Megatron now. But unlike everyone else here, I’ve seen what you really are: a useless, broken, rusty little Skiv. Filthy wetware – ugh!”

Drift delivered a knee to the mech’s abdomen, and then several sharp blows to the face, using his fists to wipe the smirk away the only way he knew. He didn’t stop pummelling him when he fell to the ground, or when alarmed cries sounded nearby, or when his knuckles were slicked with energon.

What did stop him, though, was Wing’s horror-struck voice. “Drift?!”

He froze, panting, shaking with rage, and looked up at Wing’s appalled expression. The horror he found there didn’t surprise him, but the way it wrenched at his spark did. He stood, quickly, as though shocked to find the battered mech beneath him, but when he stepped toward Wing, the jet flinched.

And somehow, that hurt more than anything the mech had said.

“What are you doing?” Wing was incredulous. Suddenly Drift heard him, on that first day in the city: _You’re no run-of-the-mill brute. I can see it._

He winced. “It wasn’t what you think –”

Within seconds Axe was upon them, hoisting Drift off the ground by his shoulders. “What is your problem?”

“He provoked me!”

The mech’s blue optics narrowed. “How so?”

Drift struggled against the iron grip holding him up, but his lean frame, strong as it was, was no match for Axe’s girth. “He… he insulted me.”

“What could Relay have possibly said to warrant you attacking him like that?”

How could he tell Axe? If they had been empty insults, he’d have just shrugged it off, any of them could tell that – and especially Wing, who was gazing at him from just behind Axe, worried. Drift had reacted so strongly there could be no doubt that whatever had been said was true; and he’d rather die than Wing, or this whole city, know what he’d been, and why.

“Drift?”

A small crowd had formed around, a some fussing over the prone, bloodied form on the ground, but the rest of them staring at Drift.

“Nothing. He didn’t say anything.”

 

——

 

“This isn’t the way back to Wing’s apartment,” Drift said apprehensively as Axe led him through the streets.

“No, it isn’t. I’m afraid you can’t stay with him any longer if you can’t control yourself.”

“What?” Drift pulled at the grip on his wrist in earnest. “What’s that got to do with Wing?”

Drift dug in his heels, and Axe, predictably loathe to have to drag him forcefully with everyone watching, stopped. He frowned, debating something for a moment. “…Wing’s agreement was that you would stay with him as long as you obey the rules.”

“I can obey them. I’ll prove it.”

“I’m sorry, lad. You’ve already had your chance to prove it, and you wasted it. Now you come with me.” Axe tightened his grip and as Drift spluttered indignantly, his optics flashed dangerously. “And you’re going to behave.”

Drift regained himself, stepped forward and glared up at Axe. “Don’t tell me what I’m going to do,” he growled.

“You’re going to behave, Drift, and I’ll tell you why. Because if you don’t, Dai Atlas will ensure that you never see Wing again.”

The rest of the journey passed in silence, Drift fuming quietly. How had Dai Atlas known to threaten him with that? Drift had never told anyone how he felt about Wing, and nothing more had happened since that evening on Wing’s balcony a few days ago. He could only assume that the jet had been feeding every detail back to the leader – or, more likely, to Axe, who in turn had been telling Dai Atlas.

Axe’s apartment was similar to Wing’s, open, bright and airy, the only major difference being the view from the balcony, which was much higher up. The place was just as needlessly decorative and ornate, the light from outside gleaming on the polished surfaces. The tables were covered with similar things: complicated crystal ornaments, piles of datapads, strange looking instruments whose names and purposes Drift could only guess.

The knight led him through the main room to a door at the back that Wing didn’t have. He pushed it open and courteously gestured that Drift step though. A small room, with the same large window and balcony nonetheless, sparsely furnished other than a large berth (though standard, for Crystal City) and a table and chair.

“What’s this?”

“Your room from now on. It’ll be better for you like this.” Axe offered a small smile. “Some people can get claustrophobic if they’re not used to being underground. It would be nice for you to have your own space.”

Drift sneered. “It would be _nice_ to be out of this place.”

“I understand you have an agreement with Wing. We had a few words, and it’s been arranged for you to continue to spar with him every day, just as he said you would. So, at least you’ve got a chance, eh?”

Axe’s good-natured friendliness was just as irritating as Wing’s warmth and optimism, only Axe – in Drift’s opinion – didn’t have Wing’s attractiveness to make up for it.

“Fantastic,” he muttered.

Axe shook his head, though he was smiling slightly. “Here.” He produced a datapad, and placed it on the desk beside Drift, like a peace offering. “This is yours for the time being. Something to keep you occupied.”

After scowling at it for a moment, tempted, Drift pointedly turned his back on it in favour of the window at the far end of the room. Sliding the glass door aside, he stepped onto the balcony, and examined the new vantage point on the city until he heard Axe retreat from the room.

For some reason, every hour seemed to take a month to pass now, though Drift couldn't place what had changed, other than Wing’s absence. By the time the black tank returned, late in the evening – knocking on the door politely before he cheerfully bustled in anyway – Drift was pacing the room, feeling confined, already grudgingly grateful for the distraction of the datapad.

Axe held up a small cup. “I brought you some tea.”

Pausing, Drift eyed the liquid suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because I thought you might like some.”

These small acts of kindness, apparently common to all the knights, still baffled Drift. Wing, and now Axe, did things for no reason other than because it might please him – Drift, who had betrayed Wing, who’d just beat a stranger into the ground. It reminded him, uncomfortably, of Gasket, and his penchant for giving and caring without any kind of prejudice or bias.

“There’s also regular energon, if you’d prefer,” Axe offered in the silence that followed, but Drift just shrugged. The other shrugged in return, setting the tea down on the table.

“You know, we’re not your enemy, Drift.”

Drift snorted, attention already turned back to the article he was skimming. “That’s why you’re locking me in here?”

The black mech’s expression became grave. “You’re here because you attacked someone, and apparently for no reason. You breached the trust we gave you. Relay is still in the medibay.”

_Good_ , Drift thought _. I hope he stays there._

“Where would you have stopped, if others hadn’t been present? Would you have killed him?”

The question was so direct, Drift finally met his gaze. “No,” he admitted eventually. “Just wanted to teach him a lesson.”

“What was the lesson?”

“You want me to teach it you, too?”

To his surprise, Axe laughed heartily, though not unkindly.

“Your tea’s going cold, lad,” he said, patting Drift amiably on the shoulder as he left.

Confused and irritated, he waited a few minutes to make sure Axe wouldn’t return before drinking the tea, and then flopping down onto the berth. It felt so strange to be alone, after weeks of Wing’s constant presence, like a part of him was missing. Though he could still hear the bustle of the city outside, it felt colder, emptier, without the soft brush of Wing’s calm EM field, his melodic voice, the warmth in his deep, bright optics.

Alone with his thoughts, and forced to listen to them, they turned unbidden to the blue mech – what was his name? – and the things that had been said.

_Filthy wetware._

He’d fought to leave that part of his past behind for good. To never have to have those words hurled at him again. They turned his stomach, bringing with them the putrid smell, the close, oppressive darkness, the ache of a hollow tank. Crammed into a bolthole, throat dry and head aching from withdrawal, the loneliness had been suffocating. He’d lived only for the next hit.

_Useless, broken, rusty little Skiv._

No. That wasn’t him.

Then why was he calling himself Drift now?

“Deadlock,” he said aloud, but quiet enough for Axe not to hear him, just to make it real again. “I’m Deadlock.”

Autobots and low-ranking Decepticons alike cowered before him. He’d had bounties on his head for more Shanix than he’d ever seen in his life. Finally he was worth something, even that. And the looks of terror he got were so much better than those of loathing and disgust.

...So why had Wing’s stunned fear hurt so much?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I haven't written in a long while and this is un-beta'd, so I seriously need some feedback on my writing. I'd really appreciate it if you could leave a comment!
> 
> Edit: I forgot to mention when I posted this that the title is from a Josh Woodward song.   
> Also, it seems that when I wrote this I forgot that doors are supposed to slide open, and had everyone bursting through/slamming doors like drama-queen teenagers. ~~But I'll leave it in because that's totally what they are.~~


	2. Chapter 2

Wing alighted carefully on the balcony, cursing as the tip of a foot caught on the railing briefly. He froze, listening warily, optics on the shutters covering the glass door, but concluded after a moment that he’d still landed lightly enough to not wake anybody.

Even now, having arrived, he still hesitated.

Dai Atlas had forbade Drift from living with Wing, but he neglected to mention whether Wing could visit him. And so, _technically_ , he wasn’t breaking any rules. But still he wavered, even with one hand outstretched towards the glass behind which he was sure Drift was sleeping.

He had to see him. He needed –

The shutters snapped open suddenly, and both people on either side of the glass recoiled in shock. Wing recovered first, smiling tentatively as Drift slid back the glass door before stepping back into the darkness to allow him in. Aside from clenched fists, nothing about him held a trace of the mech who’d hurt Relay.

“The hell are you doing here?” Drift hissed, perplexed.

“I came to see you,” Wing explained simply, whispering, mindful of Axe in the next room. “Why are you awake? Did you hear me land?”

“I heard a jet. Didn’t survive the – this long by being a heavy sleeper.”

Wing burned to ask about the slip of the tongue, but Drift had folded his arms, and was glaring away, guarded. It did prove his suspicions, however, that there was more to Drift and his past than anybody realised.

“I know that Relay did provoke you,” he said firmly. He wasn’t surprised to find Drift’s brow furrowed when he looked up, optics flickering with something almost like panic.

“How much did you hear?”

“Nothing,” Wing assured quickly. “I understand if you don’t want me to know. But if you continue to insist that Relay was completely innocent, then everyone will assume you attacked him for no reason. Which would mean that – that you’re dangerous to everyone.”

Sneering, Drift leant against the desk. “Thought I was already dangerous. Wasn’t Dai Atlas afraid I would taint all the poor innocent minds?”

Had he overheard those heated conversations, or put the pieces together himself? Wing supposed it didn’t really matter, any more. “That’s… different. But you were allowed out with me on the assumption that you were sane enough to not start assaulting strangers unprovoked.”

“I’m a Decepticon.”

“So you keep saying.” He approached the hunched white frame, daring to take one of his hands in his own, gently. Drift tensed, though he didn’t pull it away. “But I know you’re a Decepticon because you believe in something, not because you enjoy hurting people.”

Drift offlined his optics and said nothing. Wing took another step nearer, close enough to feel the disquiet in the agitated EM field.

_Oh, Drift. Why must you make it so hard for yourself?_

He lifted his free hand, reaching for Drift’s face. Softly, he brushed his fingers against the cheek armour –

And the door crashed open.

Alarmed, the pair jumped apart guiltily. Axe filled the doorway, bewildered, optics round. After a moment of stunned silence, he shook his head with dismay. “Wing…”

“Axe.” His wings riffled uncomfortably, caught red-handed.

The triple changer ducked into the room, gaze flicking between Wing and Drift, who had folded his arms again defensively. “This couldn’t have been postponed?”

“I’m sorry. I couldn’t wait,” he explained, wringing his hands.

Axe sighed. “You know what I have to do now.”

“Don’t, Axe, please.”

Curiosity piqued at the sound of Wing’s agitation, Drift said, “What? What do you have to do?”

“I have to tell Dai Atlas that Wing broke the rules. And he won’t be pleased. I’m sorry, Wing.” Axe soothed an apologetic hand across one of Wing’s nacelles. Wing noticed Drift twitch, optics following Axe’s hand. “But I can’t deceive him.”

“Don’t worry. It’s my fault.” Suddenly his pitiful excuse that Dai Atlas hadn’t mentioned whether he was allowed to visit Drift seemed childish and silly.

“I’m afraid you’ll need to leave now.”

He nodded, and Drift pushed away from the table. “Wait.” He frowned as he hesitated, reluctant. “If Wing is already in trouble, then couldn’t he just…” he tried to sound indifferent. “Stay here a bit longer?”

Wing’s spark stirred, touched. It had obviously taken a lot of willpower for him to say that, and he smiled at Drift, but the blue optics were glowering at Wing’s feet uncomfortably.

Grimacing, Axe heaved a sigh. “Sorry, lad. But then I’d be breaking the rules too.”

“Drift,” Wing said softly, reaching out for his arm, but Drift snatched it away.

“Just go.”

“But –”

“ _Just_ _go_ ,” he growled firmly, turning his back.

Deflated, Wing made his way slowly into the main apartment, followed by Axe. He paused at the outer door.

“Can’t you turn a blind eye, just this once?” Wing importuned quietly.

“Are you asking me to lie to Dai Atlas?”

He bowed his head, ashamed. “No. Of course not. But… he’ll stop me from seeing Drift altogether. And he needs me.”

_And I need him._

Axe’s stern expression softened. “You know I’ll do what I can to dull the blow. But I’m not a miracle-worker, and this hasn’t exactly made things any easier.”

“I shouldn’t have come here.”

To his surprise, Axe smiled. “I wouldn’t have advised it, of course. But that’s not to say I didn’t do plenty of my own sneaking around when I was young and in love.”

In spite of everything, Wing couldn’t help but return the smile.

 

——

 

“What?”

Carefully, as though treading a minefield, Axe explained, “Wing was warned that if he broke the rules, he wouldn’t be allowed to see you at all.”

Drift was surprised by how quickly his irritation rose into fury. He wasn’t supposed to care. He should be _pleased_ to be separated by Wing, whose constant, offensively positive presence he’d griped about for weeks.

But it could mar his chances of escape, he rationalised. He was supposed to be learning how to beat Wing. “What about the agreement?”

“That will have to be suspended for the meantime.”

“And where do I go?”

“You stay here.”

The spark of anger caught, and like wildfire, he was powerless to stop it. “So you’re locking me in this slagging room now? I’m your prisoner, and you control who I see and what I do? Do you know what I’ve –”

_What I’ve done to get my freedom? Where I came from, what I went through?_

“…I have rights,” Drift settled for, further frustrated by his inability to explain what it meant for him to be treated like this.

“I regret that we’ve had to resort to this –”

“No, you don’t! You don’t care.” Drift advanced on Axe, jabbing his chest with an accusing finger. “If you really regretted it, you wouldn’t do it in the first place!”

Axe looked unimpressed. “I’m going to leave until you’ve cooled down.”

He began to make his way to the exit, but Drift grabbed his arm. “You can’t do this!”

Axe shook him off easily. “I’m sorry.” He shut the door between them, and Drift heard the click of the lock with outrage.

“Come back! I’m not done with you!”

“No. I’m not fighting you, Drift,” Axe’s voice said from the other side.

With a grunt, Drift stepped back and kicked the door. “You can’t keep me in here. This isn’t fair!”

“That’s enough. It’s completely fair. You’re being punished for harming an innocent person, and Wing is being punished for disobeying rules.”

“And locking me in here is supposed to achieve what?”

“Well, if you stop being immature, we can discuss this like civilised mechs.”

Drift’s laugh was cold and hollow. “I’m not civilised, according to _you_.” A loud bang echoed in the room as he kicked the metal door again. “According to you, I’m insane.” Bang. “If that’s what you want me to be?” Bang. “So be it.”

A hint of barely-restrained irritation bled into Axe’s voice. “Stop that. Don’t take your anger out on my door, it wasn’t even my decision. If you’d like to fight Dai Atlas, I’m sure he could spare you some time.”

“Love to see him try,” Drift snarled, even though they both knew the words were empty. If he couldn’t lay a finger on Wing, what chance did he have against Dai Atlas?

“Now, I’m going to give you some time to cool off, and there’s something I need to do. There’s plenty of energon, and you’re welcome to any of my datapads. I won’t be long.”

Drift shouted a strangled, shapeless sound of rage as heavy footfalls receded down the corridor. He looked for something to throw, his hand closing on the nearest object – a colourful, expensive-looking crystal ornament. He flung it at the ground and it shattered easily into thousands of sharp, glittering pieces.

Just like his and Wing’s almost-relationship. Beautiful, maybe – or potentially so – but fragile, so easily broken in a single instant. And the city, too, seemed to hang in a similar balance, if Drift could so easily taint it, if he had to be locked away to ensure its safety.

Feeling recklessly destructive, Drift swiped three more pretty trinkets from a table to smash on the floor. It was satisfying, but also somehow disappointing, like when he’d been on boosters so long they’d started to have less effect on him. So the logical thing to do had been to increase the dose, and accordingly he now sent datapads, energon cubes, everything within reach clattering unceremoniously onto the floor. He kicked at anything that didn’t break until it did, stomping on the screens of Axe’s datapads, spilling energon like blood.

None of it helped.

The glass doors onto both balconies were locked. He felt a fleeting moment of anxiety – he really had been trapped in here. But then he laughed bitterly.

How naïve of Axe, Drift thought, to think that he’d care about locks or glass.

 

——

 

Wing thought he was being paranoid when he answered his door to find nobody there after all. But just before he closed it, puzzled, he heard a groan, and stuck his head out properly –

“Drift!”

He was heavily injured, and barely standing, slumped against the wall. A helm finial was broken, his face and a shoulder bloodied, arm plating cracked. His teeth were grit in pain. A myriad of horrifying possibilities crowded into Wing’s mind as he quickly moved to support Drift, taking his weight as he helped him into the room.

“What happened?” He asked, half dreading the answer.

Drift was silent for a long moment. “I fell.”

“Drift, please don’t lie to me.”

Wing led him swiftly to the maintenance facility, settling him down onto a stool before turning to rummage through cabinets. He tried, without much luck, not to imagine another civilian lying beaten on the ground. If Drift had hurt someone else, he should be raising the alarm, not tending to his wounds…

“I fell,” Drift repeated, voice crackling. “From a height. I was trying to climb down from Axe’s balcony. Misjudged whether a ledge could hold my weight.” He made as if to shrug, but winced.

Secretly relieved that this wasn’t the product of violence, Wing relaxed slightly – though not entirely. Drift was going to be in a lot of trouble once he was discovered missing, and there wasn’t much to be done about it. They would be looking for him. And if Axe or Dai Atlas were alerted, it would likely be only minutes before someone hammered at the door.

He tipped cleanser onto a rag with practiced ease and knelt beside Drift, gently touching the rag to the worst injury on his shoulder. Drift jumped with a quiet hiss.

“I’m sorry,” Wing murmured, optics dim with sympathy. “I need to clean the wound.”

Drift shrugged his other shoulder.

“How long have you been bleeding? Have you lost a lot of energon?”

“Survived on less,” he snapped tersely, almost defensively.

The statement opened a whole other multitude of questions, and implied things that Wing had been hesitant to guess at, but now was not the time for speculation.

“Maybe, but that doesn’t mean you should have to go without now.” Wing nimbly patched the wound with quick fingers, listening carefully for shouts in the street, or heavy footsteps in the corridor.

Frowning, Drift tried to look irritated, though Wing had become adept at reading the bemused, tentative warmth in the depths of the blue optics. “Stop worrying about me.”

Wing smiled as he carefully patched the damaged finial. “Never.”

He tilted Drift’s face upwards, gently, and their gazes met. Drift looked… lost, and swell of affection surged in his spark. For a moment, he longed to bundle him into his arms and keep him safe, protect him from ever being hurt again. And he was certain something _had_ hurt Drift, that his hostility had its roots in some old injustice or suffering that he still carried with him. As he cleaned and patched the wounded face, Wing imagined Drift starving, or hopelessly alone, and shivered.

They should be showing him kindness, not locking him away! Even if their only intent was for him to become less hostile, treating him as a criminal was the wrong thing to do. Unfortunately, there would be no convincing anybody that Drift had been provoked, if he was unwilling to even admit it himself.

And now… Drift had fled Axe’s room and come to find Wing. Why? Of course – with the exception of during sparring – he was always careful to be compassionate and kind to him. However… surely that couldn’t be the only reason…

“Drift, why did you run away?”

Drift snorted. “Wouldn’t be the first time I ran away from something.”

Wing finished smoothing the patch tape, but continued to stroke, softly, the undamaged lines of his face, the joints in the armour. “But why did you come here?”

Drift opened his mouth, and said nothing, optics searching Wing’s face. Eventually he sighed, tilted his head into the gentle, accepting touch, and then murmured, “you.”

With a soft sound, Wing hooked his fingers under Drift’s chin, and pulled him into a kiss. He hesitated, and once again Wing prepared to back away – but before he could, Drift responded fervently. It was different this time, urgent and fierce, Wing trying to press as close as possible while still being mindful of the injuries. When their tongues met, Drift moaned.

They kissed for long, wonderful minutes. One of Drift’s hands was hot at the back of his neck, the other found a wing and brushed it, softly, making Wing tremble.

When they arrived, loudly, the knights didn’t even bother to knock at the door. It burst open, and two mechs appeared, openly shocked to find them twined together in the maintenance room. Drift jolted, pulling away, but was still held in Wing’s arms and didn’t try to escape.

“He’s in here!” Someone called down the corridor. Very lightly, Wing rested his helm crest against Drift’s.

“They cannot keep us apart,” he whispered. Drift shuttered his optics.

Dai Atlas was preceded by the ominous sound of his unmistakeable heavy footfalls. “Ah. I suppose he hasn’t told you what he did,” he stated coldly, when he saw them.

Drift drew away suddenly, sheepish, averting his optics. Wing’s spark sank, crestfallen. “What did you do?”

When Drift didn’t respond, Dai Atlas huffed. “I’ll tell you what he did. He repeatedly threatened Axe with violence and drove him from his own apartment –”

The Decepticon’s head snapped up. “What? I didn’t – Axe said he –”

“– he destroyed many of Axe’s belongings beyond repair, wasted a great deal of energon, shattered a window, broke the rules by escaping, scared civilians by sneaking around covered in blood, and obviously lied to or deceived you. And this is only what we have discovered _so far_.”

The long, uncomfortable silence that followed was broken only by the sound of a fourth person sprinting into the room, winded.

“Dai Atlas!” Axe said immediately, sparing the pair on the floor only a fleeting glance. “Wait! I demand a fair trial on Drift’s behalf.”

“What?” Dai Atlas stared at him as though he’d gone insane.

Axe smiled proudly. “I couldn’t remember if you can ask for others until I went to look it up just now. As it turns out, you can. Hopefully, that should settle all this once and for all.”

 

——

 

Dread weighed down every circuit in Drift’s body, his spark feeling heavier with every step that brought him closer to the courtrooms. As he was shepherded by the escorting knights, the only thing that kept him from bailing was Wing’s presence beside him, offering an encouraging half-smile when he caught his gaze. A small part of him wanted to return it, but instead he glared away pointedly, choosing instead to focus on where he was being taken.

The courts were, unsurprisingly, just as grand as the other important buildings in the city, and even the blue and gold adornments above the entrance were reminiscent of those above the Circle’s central meeting rooms. The insides were more of the same; the large glass windows gave an impressive panoramic view of the square outside, and if the hallways were polished any further they’d be as slippery as ice.

Drift braced himself, tension making him edgy and restless. As he was led into the court, he apprehensively scanned the room for Relay – but he needn’t have bothered.

Relay hadn’t shown up.

Drift was all too ready to abandon the whole absurd affair, but Dai Atlas insisted they wait while some people went to find Relay, and then proceeded to sit in stony silence. Before long, however, the room had broken out into subdued chatter, and even he was in quiet, heated discussion with Axe.

“Why is Axe up there?” Drift asked Wing, indicating the raised seat beside Dai Atlas. “Shouldn’t he be…” he struggled not to show his lack of knowledge of trials. “accusing me?”

Luckily, Wing understood. “No, Axe didn’t want to press charges. He said that everything you’d broken of his was replaceable.”

“Then what’s this about?”

“Your assault on Relay, and what caused it. That’s why we can’t proceed without him.”

Suddenly, Drift felt a strong need to be anywhere but there, trapped by a circle of knights. He gripped the edge of the desk they were sat at. “Then I don’t want a trial.”

“I’m afraid there’s not much choice. Look, Drift, the only way to resolve this is to hear Relay’s side of the story.”

Drift scowled at his hands, and Wing took one of them gently. He didn’t bother to resist. Word had travelled fast that Wing – the virtuous, pacifistic knight – was involved with the aggressive Decepticon thug. He saw several of the mechs in the surrounding stands glance at them, some exchanging furtive whispers, and looked daggers at them.

“Whatever it is,” said Wing, touching his arm to draw his attention from the others, “I won’t think any less of you.”

“Not just you,” he pointed out.

The jet tilted his head, and Drift was briefly distracted by the way the light glittered on his helm. “Would you rather these people go on believing that you hurt Relay for no reason?”

Drift only shrugged again, forcing his gaze away.

“Is it worth your happiness here?”

He snorted. “What, they’re just gonna clear my name because Relay… said things?”

“It’s two very different things, attacking someone unprovoked, and retaliating in blind rage.”

Drift said nothing, choosing instead to size up the knight standing guard at the exit, estimate the distance to the doors. Apparently following his gaze, Wing said, “you know, this is in your best interest.”

With an impatient sigh, Drift glared across at the jet. “Letting me leave would be in my _best interest_ ,” he muttered, but his voice didn’t have the heat or conviction he expected it to. He also didn’t find any satisfaction in the droop of Wing’s shoulder pinions, his gold optics dropping to their hands.

Before either could say anything else, the doors opened and in came Relay, completely repaired and flanked by two knights. As soon as they entered the room, the narrowed blue optics found his, and glared heatedly.

“We found him hiding near the park.”

“Yeah,” Drift couldn’t stop himself from saying snidely into the silence. “Because he’s guilty.”

Dai Atlas stood.

“Yes,” Relay snapped, tearing his arms free of the knights’ hold. “Yes! I provoked you. Yes, I called you a Skiv, a whore, because that’s what you are! And that’s what you were when I caught you with my partner, slutty little wetware!”

Leaping to his feet, Drift roared, “SHUT UP!”

“No! Get your dirty addict aft back to the gutters where you belong!”

In the stunned silence that followed, Drift caught sight of something that shocked him. There were tears in the blue mech’s optics.

Unsure what to think about this discovery, and still seething with rage, Drift left his seat in a flash and dived for the exit. He took the knight beside the doors by surprise, slamming into him and sending him stumbling to the ground before the Circle had even left their seats. In the hallway, though, several more of them were standing guard. Of course he should have foreseen this, Drift thought, cursing himself – he was apparently unstable and dangerous, and the knights weren’t all as trusting as Wing.

The knights moved to block the exit as they saw him approaching, but Drift didn’t stop as shouts and fast footsteps gained behind him. Instead he transformed and accelerated hard, skidding around the corner until he saw them: the large glass windows.

At his speed he smashed through the glass easily, as though it were water, scattering a shower of shards in his wake. Thankful the courtroom had been on the ground floor, he fled almost blindly through the streets, ignoring the startled cries as civilians leapt out of his way.

He drove, wildly, until he reached the edge of the city, and then he drove around the circumference. He wasn’t sure what he’d do if he came across the exit to the surface. Right now, he didn’t feel much like being in the vastness of the desert, exposed under the open sky.

Instead, seemingly by instinct, Drift eventually found a wide, low bridge, the dark underneath it thankfully deserted. He crammed himself into a corner beneath a support strut, and curled into his old, hunched position, knees pulled against his chest. Only then did he allow himself to think.

So, Relay was only treating Drift this way because he was hurt, upset. So what? It wasn’t his fault he’d been cheated on. And it wasn’t like Relay deserved any sympathy: for all he knew, he could even be describing what had happened to the circle at that moment, probably a detailed account of Drift in some degrading position on the floor or over a chair, covered in fluids, humiliated.

Feeling nauseated, Drift pressed his palms to his face. No, he couldn’t care less if Relay had not satisfied his lover. Not while he pictured Axe and Dai Atlas’ disgusted expressions, the vile rumours being passed around the room. He tried not to think about Wing’s reaction. He didn’t want to see the repulsion marring the beautiful face.

_You wouldn’t want me if you’d seen what I’ve done. If you understood who I am._

There was more to it, he realised, than the killing he’d done as a Decepticon. His whole past, everything he’d ever been, was shameful, wrong, horrendous. And, like a filthy stray it had followed him here, tainted what could even have been – he barely dared to think it – a new life.

No. Nonsense. Drift growled into the darkness. New life? What the hell was he thinking? He had to get back out there, back to the war! He should be trying to escape, not cowering under a bridge like some hopeless little…

“Definitely somewhere around here,” a voice said above.

“Thank you, Waver,” a second voice replied, and Drift stiffened. It was Wing’s. “I’ll take it from here.”

“Are you sure? What if he’s violent?”

“I don’t think he will be. And even if he is, he won’t hurt me.”

He watched both directions carefully, debating whether or not to run. He didn’t want to see Wing; didn’t want to see anybody. Didn’t want to be taken back to the trial, to Relay, to the judging stares.

“I’ll only ask one thing of you, Waver.”

“Of course.”

But if he left the bridge, he ran the risk of being discovered by Axe, or even Dai Atlas, which was much worse…

“Pretend to the others that you’re still searching for Drift.”

“Isn’t that lying?”

“Not really.” There was a smile in Wing’s voice. Drift hadn’t realised he could hear that. “Of course, there’s always a chance that he isn’t here, so perhaps it would be best if you continued searching.”

“You may be right. Don’t hesitate to let me know if you need me, though.”

“Thank you.”

Then silence. Maybe, he thought stupidly, Wing had gone the wrong way, or had assumed wrongly about where Drift might be.

Then he started as Wing seemed to materialise out of nowhere, not too far away, like a ghost under the shadow of the bridge. But the familiar white shape was smiling, the gold optics warm. This time, Drift had difficulty reigning in the nascent giddiness that had started to occur whenever he saw the jet.

Wing held out a hand, as though trying to coax a difficult animal. His voice was soft.  “Are you alright?”

Yes. No.

“What do _you_ think?” He snapped.

The hand dropped to Wing’s side. “I don’t know. I want you to know that I don’t think any less of you.”

Drift snorted and looked away, saying nothing. When Wing sat beside him, setting the great sword aside, he scowled, but didn’t move away.

“Nothing that’s been said will leave that room,” Wing said carefully. “Nobody else is going to find out.”

Still Drift was silent. It was bad enough that so many people knew already.

“Those who do know,” Wing continued, as though predicting his thoughts, “won’t judge you. We may be pacifistic for the most part, but that doesn’t mean we’re ignorant. We know that people lived in the gutters, and we heard about what life was like for them – if you could even call it a life.” Drift glanced up, and Wing’s eyes were downcast, examining his own hands, his mouth pulled into a rare frown. “It was frustrating that we couldn’t do anything to really help, or take more people with us when we left.” He looked up and met Drift’s gaze. “I’m sorry about what you had to go through. I truly am. I can see why you’d be so… angry. But, you have a chance to start afresh here.” The smile returned.

“I don’t think,” Drift said, his voice hoarse, “you understand what it’s like for me here.”

“Then explain?”

“In the Decepticons, I was a commander. Second in command, in fact. I told people what to do and they did it, or they died trying. I made even the toughest Autobots run away. Hell, my own men were afraid of me.”

“You enjoyed it?”

Drift hesitated. “…I was good at it.”

Wing nodded. “I can imagine you were quite fearsome. But without your guns, would they still be afraid of you?”

“That’s not fair. Guns are part of how I fight. That’s like… that would be as stupid as asking you to fly without your wings.”

“Maybe I could phrase that differently.” He thought for a moment, and Drift tried not to study the warm, golden glow on Wing’s face, the striking angular lines of his chassis. “Were those people afraid of you, or of what you were capable of?”

He shook his head. “What does it matter?”

Wing studied him for a long moment. “Who you are and what you do are separate things. If you are ashamed of things you’ve done in the past… that doesn’t mean you need to be ashamed of _yourself_.”

Drift attempted to sneer, but it became a grimace instead.

“You always did the best you could with the knowledge you had at the time. Now that you know there’s a better way to do things, you can start making the right choices. It’s all part of the learning process.”

His hand found Drift’s on the ground, and held it. Drift was grateful, silently gripping back tightly. It felt like the only thing that was keeping him afloat amongst a flood of overturned beliefs, threatening to bring down the foundation of everything he thought about himself, his actions, what he wanted. Speechless, he could only stare at Wing. Beautiful, wise Wing.

Whatever the jet saw in Drift’s optics, he blushed and glanced away.

Drift sighed, long and heavy. “I’m… I’m sorry. I broke all Axe’s stuff, I got you into trouble. Sorry.”

“And Relay?”

“Relay had it coming.”

“Drift…”

He scowled. “What? Did you really expect me to forgive him?”

“Well… we’ll sort everything out in due course. Axe is talking to Dai Atlas and he might be able to pull a few strings. So,” Wing leaned in, brushed a chaste kiss against Drift’s lips, smiling. “You have a wonderful opportunity. Drift… this could be your redemption.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading! Constructive comments are always helpful :)  
> oops how do notes work *fails at AO3*


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